From One Depressed Man To No One In Perticular
by blackveins
Summary: This is basically a thought by thought from Remus while he's staying at the Black house before the War. Ever wonder how that werewolf thinks? Well, this is it. T for language. One-Shot. He does express an interest in Molly Weasley, but its nothing Sirius. Only a passing thought... A/N: Well, it was a one-shot... but I felt like writing more.
1. Bang

I put the barrel in my mouth and pull the trigger. Bang.

That's not the way a wizard dies. A wizard gets hit by a wayward spell, or blows up a potion. There's thousands ways for a wizard to die and it look like a complete accident. I think that's why I find guns so appealing.

Muggles are always finding new ways to die. News flash, an animal killed a muggle. In the wizarding world, same guy's lucky to land a page before the quidditch scores. Werewolf attacks only make it big because they've become so rare.

Not to mention its easy. Pull you're finger and bang. That's the end. No fancy spells to remember, nothing to mix. Muggles may be bad ata lotof things, but they got one thing right. Death. Quick. Easy. Death.

In the wizarding world, dying on accident is easy... Dying on purpose? That's much harder. Blew your face off with a spell? There's a potion for that. Giant lizard took off your leg? Got a spell to patch that right up. The spell to kill in an instant?... That one can't be done on yourself.

Its like a safety switch or something. You point the wand at your heart and get out "Avadaka-" and your voice dies. Right there. Every time. You have to mean the spell though... Maybe that's it. Some part of you can never really mean to kill you. The quickest most painless death in existence and it can only be used on those that don't want it.

Oh fuck. Its even the eleventh. I hate the eleventh. My best mate and his girl were killed on the eleventh. A month later the damn rat was "killed" on the eleventh and framed my other best mate, getting him sent to Askaban.

Now I've got three mates dead and the only one other thing living that remembers them like I do is the same that got them killed.

This scotch tastes like shit.

Now here I am, in the Blacks house. Waiting for my own death. If only I could get a damn gun.

These kids parade around like they own the place, certain they can take out the greatest evil in wizarding history. And I'm sitting behind them, cheering them to their own deaths. When mine is unreachable.

I think half the reason I don't do it is because I worry Molly will be the one to find me. Once upon a time I had a bit of a crush on Molly. But who could love a werewolf, right?

Exactly.

I don't want to steal her from her husband and family or anything... I just like red-heads. And she seems so sweet. Over bearing, but sweet. Why am I even thinking about this. Who could love a werewolf.

Nymphadora thinks she loves me. Silly girl. Silly child. I see her sweet face smiling at me like she understands and I want to scream "I'm an animal. Run, before I eat you... Before I eat you all up." Because I will.

She has a full life ahead of her, why is she wasting a thought on me. A damn wolf that cant even buy a gun. I know that if I was let loose...at the wrong time, on the wrong day... I would kill them all. Just for the sake of it.

I hate being a wolf.

Then Severus drops by. To remind me of what I am, of what I could do. Of how doomed we all are. He sounds like a bastard, bus sometimes I think he's the only wizard here with half a brain left in him.

Sending children to war.

I'd be sick if I didn't know I'd be the one to clean it up in the morning. Does Dumbledore really think we can save the world? Has the old coot deluded himself so far? The entire war rests on the shoulders of one incompetent child with a scar from his parents murder.

This scotch still tastes like shit.

I've been stuck in this house for goddamn days. I would say that I want to go home, but I don't believe I really have anywhere to go back to. I think of "home" and the only thing that comes to mind is the cabin where I got bit. That is not home.

Molly just walked in. She poured some milk in a pot and set it on the stove. I don't know if she know's I'm here... Well, she looked at me, so I'm going to assume she does..

"Would you like some cocoa, dear?" She offers, her voice soft and sweet. I nod unconsciously. I don't know if I want cocoa, but my mouth is dry and that sounds better than nothing.

I wish I could tell her. About the gun, about my fear... But what would I say? I say nothing. She adds some milk to the already heating pot and we sit in silence. She's still beautiful.

A small part of me wished Mr. Weasley had died that night with the snake... but a greater part of me is glad that there's still someone around to take care of Molly. It's not like I could have a life with her if he died, so I'm glad he's alive.

She asked me how I was doing. I nod without thinking. I'm just sitting here wishing I could buy a gun... Is what I want to say. "I'm good." is what comes out of my mouth.

When the milk is hot she pours out two cups and puts chocolate powder in both. She puts in cinnamon, and sugar, and what I smell to be a hint of nutmeg. She's a fabulous cook, even at 4 in the morning for a cup of cocoa.

Its 4 in the morning?! What in the nine kingdoms is she doing up? "Yer up late?" My words are slurred with alcohol, but I try to ignore it. Molly pushes a cup of cocoa in front of me and I accept it gratefully.

"My children are fighting on the front line of a war." She states. I nod. I wouldn't be able to sleep either. I cant sleep now, and I don't even have children. Molly opens her mouth to speak, but hesitates.

"You're a good man Remus, never forget that. a good man." Its like she can read my thoughts. I nod and lean in to take a drink of the cocoa to cover the tears welling in my eyes.

"Thank you." I mutter, as my tongue refuses to say 'I love you Molly, and I always have.'... That's just the scotch talking. Molly carries her cocoa upstairs as I watch. We're all fucked, but at least we have someone here to make us feel loved.

I don't want her for myself... I wan't her for us all. If everyone had their own Molly, I don't think anyone in the world would be sad. What if Voldemort had his own Molly? Would this war even be here if Voldemort had his own Molly.

Fuck buying a gun, I'm going to go out and be someones Molly goddammit. Now how in hell do I be a Molly?

The End.

((A/N: Its not really suppose to make sense, and I think that's what I love about it.))


	2. Hangover

It's four pm and I have a fucking hangover. How the hell does one maintain a hangover until four in the goddamn afternoon.

All I do is eat, drink and sleep. I am the most useless animal alive. A normal dog would have its nose to the ground licking up scraps. I'm not even that useful.

Molly is walking in. She looks at me, but remains expressionless. She had coffee made and she pours me a cup. Its stale, but welcome. I nod my thanks.

She sits across from me and picks up her own cup and a crossword in the paper. How does she do that? She knows I'm hungover. She knows I'm lazy as fuck. How does she not look at me like I'm a waste of space?

In an hour she'll be out weeding the yard and I'll be getting drunk again. An hour after that she'll be vacuuming a spare room and I'll be passed out on the couch.

That's how it goes. She cleans, I do nothing. Screw it. I want to be a Molly. I clear my throat and her eyes snap to me expectantly.

"What can I-" I have to clear my throat again. I swear its grown mold since I last used it. "...help" Her eyes glow with warmth as she smiles.

"Drink your coffee, luv." She says simply and sweetly as she turns her attention back to her crossword. I look deeply into my coffee and search for the man I once was.

If it wasn't in the bottom of a bottle, maybe its in the bottom of a cup of coffee. I down the last half of the cup and feel my head spin. Nope, still hungover.

Almost psychically she pours me another cup. I raise my eyebrow at her, but take a sip of the fresher stale coffee regardless.

Molly chuckles that cute high pitched chuckle of hers. "Oh sweetie, I've had Botfly Scotch. One glass'll knock you right on your bum. I'm impressed you could hold down half a bottle. Drink up."

My jaw drops. I cant help it, who knew that the charming Mrs. Weasley knew her scotch? She laughs again. "Don't look at me like I'm the crazy one, I wasn't the one drinkin' it at six in the morning."

I feel ashamed at that. No proper human or animal would get caught drinking at six in the morning. But when I look up at her she's just smiling again, like she's looking at one of her own children that aced an exam. It makes me feel worse.

"Tell you what. You help me clean the burgundy room, and I'll have a glass with you when its done?" Molly smiles, washing her cup out in the sink. I nod dumbly and down my own coffee. She takes the mug from me and washes it as well.

Did Molly Weasley really just offer to drink with me?


	3. The Burgundy Room

Molly grabs a bucket of supplies and walks me up a couple flights of stairs. This house is cramped, but seems endless. She opens a red door at the end of the hallway.

Well, by 'opened' I mean she turned the handle and slammed the full weight of her body into the door. I guess she knew it sticks. I survey my surroundings.

What have I done.

This is the dustiest room I have ever seen in my life. The entire room, floor to ceiling, is a pale white color. It is at this moment I recall that the only thing I've actually cleaned in the past decade was my office at Hogwarts when I was leaving.

I take the cloth and bucket that Molly hands me. She points out which way the nearest bathroom is to get water when most of the light dust is cleared out. She warns me not to get anything wet until ALL of the dust that can be dusted out is gone.

I feel even more useless when I look at her with dinner plate eyes and ask "How... do I clean?" I really haven't cleaned in that long.

Molly laughs again like what I said was charming and takes one of the extra rags from the bucket. She dusts away a spot on the wall, spits on the rag and scrubs away at the grime still left.

In a moment there's a spot on the wall about the size of a gallion that seemed to glow a deep shade of something between red and black. It could be called burgundy I guess.

Molly put the spare cloth back with the others and turned back to me. The whole room should be that color when you're done.

I gave her what I thought was a daring smile and said "Yes ma'am!" and gave her a fake salute. A Molly would never back down just because a room looked to dirty. If I was going to be a Molly I would need to accept this challenge like I actually wanted to do it.

She laughed, patted me on the back, and waltzed out. "I'll be in the garden if you need me!" She chuckled. It was both cute and deathly intimidating that she kept laughing at my desire to clean.

I stepped further into the room and rolled up my sleeves. It was going to be a very long day.


	4. Finally Done Cleaning

I feel like I'm going to die. But finally, there's more dust on me than on the walls. Its not perfect, but it actually looks like a burgundy room for the first time this century.

Molly has come up several times to compliment my diligence and bring me water. All of this cleaning has made me realize one thing.

I may never be a Molly, but I sure as hell am going to be a better Remus.

I wonder what Better Remus is like?I think he'll work hard like Molly. Maybe not AS hard as Molly, but harder than Old Remus. He'll work like Remus use to back in school. Back when it felt like things mattered.

Hell, maybe I'll start studying again to try to get back in the mindset. Maybe I'll read some of the stuff in the library here... Who am I kidding, those books probably bite.

Like, literally.

The Blacks put some serious spells on their things, and its honestly not worth the risk. Later tonight I'll owl Dumbledore and see if he can send me some of the seventh year curriculum.

Unsure of where I was exactly, I apparated back to my room where I left my old briefcase, and I pull out my quill and parchment. I ignore the layer of dust on my bag and pen out a quick letter to Dumbledore.

_Sir,_

_I would like to be doing something more useful. Would you mind sending me some of the highest level curriculum in the school so I may polish my mind in this time of waiting?_

_Wand at the ready,_

_Remus Lupin_

It was short, simple, and good enough. Remus tied the letter to the black owl that slept on his windowsill. "Take this to Dumbledore." He whispered to the awakening bird.

The owl gave a yawn and ruffled its feathers. It snapped at him and took off out the window. He didn't know if the owl had a name, it had just been here when he had gotten here, but it transported the post well enough.

From his room Remus knew the way to the garden, so off he went in search of Molly.

He found her in the garden, wiping the sweat off her brow with a grimy sleeve. The sun was almost setting, they must have been working for about four or five hours by his estimate.

She stood, and gracefully brushed the excess dirt off herself. "Is the room clean?" She asked. Remus nodded, but she took him upstairs anyway to check.

"Remus it looks wonderful!" Molly beamed. For the fist time since he had moved in Remus felt like he deserved the prize winning smile she gave him.

He felt like he had just brought home a report card with the top marks in the class. He would make sure it was not the last time he felt that way.

Molly smiled at the room for a few minutes more and pointed out the places that he had cleaned particularly well. Finally she said with a contented sigh. "Lets shower up and see about that scotch, shall we?"

Remus nodded dumbly. For some reason he had assumed she had been joking. Oh yes, he remembered the reason now... because he was talking to MOLLY WEASLEY.

Weasleys don't drink anything harder than pumpkin juice and butterbeer. Molly walked with him back to his room and he was grateful that he didn't have to ask her for directions or apparate.

They parted ways, and Remus grabbed a clean towel. In less than an hour he was going to see the eight world wonder. Molly Weasley drinking alcohol.


	5. Molly's Surprise

Remus walked downstairs to find Molly already pouring herself a glass of Botfly Scotch. He tried not to gawk at how full the glass was. He sad down and poured his own glass, only half full. This was the first night he had wanted to remember in months.

She took her first sip and he expected her to recoil in horror. She poured herself that much without knowing anything about scotch, he was sure of it.

She only gave her glass a pleasant smile and took another sip. "What year is this? Its surprisingly good for Botfly. Oh, 1988. That explains it. Everything was good in '88. '85 was the worst year in history though."

She took another sip and leaned back on the couch. Remus sipped his scotch and tried to keep from wincing. He thought he was a good scotch drinker, but watching her savor the flavor made him rethink that.

Half way through his half a glass Remus was starting to feel light headed. How had he kept half a bottle down again? Oh that was right. It had taken him nine hours to do.

Molly was a third through her glass when she leapt to her feet. "I almost forgot!" She exclaimed, and ran to the kitchen.

She returned with to plates filled with steak, mashed potatoes, and garlic bread. She set one in front of Remus with matching silverware.

"How did you?..." Remus began "Oh I started it while you were in the shower." She stated finally. Ordinarily he would have declined.

But ordinarily he would have been drunk, asleep or hungover. Not tired and hungry from a hard days work. He thanked her, and tore into the dinner like a wild animal.

"So... You seem to be taking the scotch well..." Remus stated, not quite remembering how to start a conversation.

"Of course. Can I tell you a secret?" Molly asked, with a sly smile. Remus nodded with a mouthful of potatoes.

"Arthur and I weren't exactly the good kids of are year..." She said, a slight blush creeping up her cheeks. So the scotch was affecting her, just not much.

"I never woulda guessed." Remus said flatly, trying to cover that he truly was completely shocked. Molly went on to tell him about the crazy antics her and Arthur had been up to in school.

Suddenly the personalities of all of her children made much more sense. They had been as bad as the twins, but clever enough to keep the blame away from themselves.

The next morning Remus wouldn't remember the details, but he would forever remember his new found respect for the student that had lit the quidditch field ablaze during a game, and filled the great hall with doxies... twice.


	6. The Next Day

Remus woke up the morning after drinking with Molly. They had shared dozens of stories, and he could only remember clips and snips... But what he could remember was that she was not the person he assumed her to be.

Motherly, yes... but she was wild. Untamed. He hoped to look forward to many more nights like this one. Just talking to her. Hearing more about her life. Hearing all the stories that went untold.

For the first time in a long time, he also didn't have a hangover. He hadn't had much to drink, and he had eaten with it. It was nice to wake up happy to see the sun.

He opened his dusty blinds and was unsurprised to find the black owl sitting on his sill. He had no idea how it could do it, but the owl always returned eerily fast. He brought the owl to the kitchen to feed it before reading its letter.

The black owl was inclined to biting if not fed before its letter was removed. Remus fed the owl and waited until it made a cooing sound to move toward its leg. Finally contented the owl stretched out its leg and allowed Remus to relieve it of its burden.

The letter seemed like it shoult have made perfect sense. A letter that began with "Dear Remus" and ended with "From Dumbledor"... but it didn't. The writer had scrawled in a hurry and the only thing on the parchment was

_R-_

_I'll do better._

_-D_

Maybe he got the wrong letter. Maybe Dumbledore was sending the books with another owl?...Maybe he needed more scotch. Remus poured himself a glass and waited for the "better" that was to come.

It was several days later that his "better" arrived... but, "better" is certainly in the eye of the beholder.


End file.
